Playing With Matches

#EDM

One would think that Chuck Colt, being the social equivalent of a turd in a bowl punch, would love animal companions he could be genuine with, since animals are easily amused, are generally non‐non judgemental, and are seldom the cause of social anxiety — basically, the opposite of a human being. 

The problem lies in the fact that Chuck's genuine self would shorten the lifespan of any pet he got, not the least because he would depress them to oblivion. 

He first adopted a mutt that the shelter named Dr. Peppy, as he always seemed to smile whenever he saw a human. A thing that abruptly changed when, after a three-hour rant in which Chuck weighed the pros and cons of ordering Chinese or Italian takeout, Dr. Peppy committed suicide by jumping out of his apartment window, which he had forcefully opened by smashing against it every day for three months. 

He then adopted a kitten from the streets, which lasted for approximately forty minutes, in which he tried to decide a name for it, making the kitten enter into an existential crisis, and forcing it to jump out of the window yet again, plummeting to its death. Lucky for it, it still had eight lives to spare, which the kitten resolved to live as far away from Chuck as possible. 

He finally resolved to get a parakeet, since he figured out he could avoid plummeting suicides if he had a pet that could actually fly. That, and investing on a sturdier window. His plan backfired when the parakeet began to repeat his thoughts back to Chuck, which made him depressed. He eventually let the parakeet go, which the parakeet thanked him by nose-diving into the pavement from the roof. 

Needless to say, his record with pets was abysmal, but he was usually at the depressing end of the relationship, not at the suicidal one. Thus, He found himself in the unique position of being the one who wanted to jump out of a window to his early death after thirty seconds from following the rougapug. 

"So, I'm a Piscis, which is so weird cuz I feel like a Cancer sometimes, cuz I wake up super crabby when I don't have my treats #lol. That was a joke btw. I'm also Jewish, tho I haven't had my bark mitzvah yet. That's not a joke btw. Really excited about it. It's gonna be #lit #relatable." 

"I don't know who you are," said Chuck, shimmering a sickly yellow hue that smelled like the urine of someone who drank too much passion fruit juice, "but I decided you are annoying." 

"I have been told," said Puddles, shaking the ashes out of their fur, which made it look like a particularly peppered man-hog as they make their way East. "But haters gonna hate. You don't get to be the world's second-biggest Instagram pug account without dealing with them. #Blessed." 

"Why are you speaking in hashtags?" asked Chuck. 

"You don't merely adopt the #puglife," said Puddles, licking their paw, "you live the #puglife."

"Please stop saying #puglife," said Chuck. "I'm starting to get annoyed." 

"#NotGucci." 

"Okay, you know what? Just zip it and keep going." 

"Why?" 

"Because," said Chuck, circling the furry abomination before him, "if the police come around, and believe me, they will come, in a fricking tank, they're gonna try to arrest the first pervert or weirdo in their path. And you are both." 

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," said the rougapug while taking out their cellphone and taking a selfie near a hydrant. "I'm an Instagram influencer, which means I'm above the law." 

"I don't think it works like that," said Chuck, unaware that the secret Instagram cabal was, at that very moment, deciding which ingredient was vogue to put on their avocado toast. It was activated charcoal and pink Himalayan salt.